Your Own Secret
by PeggsterLover
Summary: And even now after the incident, with the confirmed memory to reassure yourself that you had succeeded, you still suffer from the 'what ifs' - Inspired by Benji's comment near the end of the film.


_So, today my office phone decided to stop working for the last hour and fifteen minutes of my shift. The time wasn't entirely unproductive. I wrote this little fic, which I hope you like. It is a risk for me, as I have never written in this style for a fanfiction before. I have been meaning to write something to do with this for a while now so I'm glad this plot bunny is off my chest. _

_I really hope it sounds ok and that you enjoy it… _

_Still don't own them :(_

_Anywho, enjoy!_

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

You're not entirely sure what it is that wakes you up this time, but suddenly you sit bolt upright in bed. Your breathing is laboured and sweat is dripping down your temple as you rub your hands over your face. Blinking away the sleep, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, feeling them rest against the cool tiles below. Letting your head drop so that your chin is gently touching your bare chest, you try to control your breathing.

It has been three weeks. Twenty one days. 504 hours. 30,240 minutes. That means it has been over 1,814,400 seconds since you pulled that trigger and helped stop nuclear war. In some ways, it feels like five minutes, in others, five years; sometimes it feels like none of it happened at all. Each day, you pass people on the street who are going about their lives in blissful ignorance of the fact that they came so close to losing them. You want to talk to someone about it. Anyone. Just so that you can get it out. But, of course, you can't. That is the problem of working for such a covert agency – especially for someone who babbles so much. No talking about anything to anyone.

You can't even talk to your team, seeing as Ethan thought it would be best to lay low while the dust settles. He told you that he would call when he thought it was 'safe'. You have no idea when that will be or where Ethan is now. Last you heard, Brandt was in Philadelphia visiting his cousin and Jane was taking a well-deserved rest in southern California. You decided to stay near to what you know, just to maintain that sense of familiarity; after coming so close to losing the world as you know it, you don't feel that it is an appropriate time for a change of scenery.

So you sit alone in your apartment each night, thinking of what you and your friends have gone through recently. Right from losing Hanaway to breaking Ethan out of the prison; from the explosion in the Kremlin to the events in the Burj Khalifa. But everything comes down to that one moment in Mumbai. You stood there, fingers bleeding as pain radiated from them, and took the shot.

You had never managed a head shot from that distance before – at least not on the first try. Training had been tough and you did really well, but that was something you were never able to achieve. But then again, you suppose, in training you knew that if you missed, you would be able to have another go. In Mumbai, there was no second chance. No rewind button so that you could take another shot. If you had missed, or not made it to Brandt in time, he wouldn't have got the power back on, Jane wouldn't have put the drives into the bay and Ethan wouldn't have been able to stop the missile. Hendricks would have won.

It was a joint effort, of course, and you would never want to take more credit or glory than anyone else for the group's success, but it means a bit more to you because you had still been a rookie. You had done a few field missions prior to this one, but never before had you faced so much responsibility. Knowing that a simple mistake on your part could have meant complete failure of the mission is a heavy weight on your shoulders. And even now after the incident, with the confirmed memory to reassure yourself that you _had _succeeded, you still suffer from the 'what ifs?'

Each time you close your eyes, you see him. Hendricks standing there, a smug smile on his face as you can only watch on. It is a different scenario each time – maybe you reach for your gun but don't have it or perhaps there are no bullets left. Yet regardless of what causes it, each dream always results in one thing. Your own failure. It ends with you facing the fact that the world is in uproar over an attack that you didn't prevent.

Every night, you wake up at some unearthly hour and must deal with the same routine of returning to calm. First, you must bring your breathing back to normal. Sometimes it is easier than others. After that, you need to cool yourself off; reduce the heat that is pulsating from your entire body, leaving you rather uncomfortable. On some occasions, all it takes is fifteen minutes out on the balcony, however, on the odd night a cool shower is needed to bring you back to reality. Sometimes you even notice your hand shaking as you reach for the bedside lamp. When you finally stop the shaking and manage to bring your head into a semi-decent space, the last thing you need to do is remind yourself. Remind yourself that you _didn't _fail. You didn't miss when you pulled that trigger. And you didn't have to watch the world turn upside down.

You wait patiently for Ethan's phone call, needing to talk to someone about it. But until then, your pain and suffering will remain your own secret.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

_So how was it? *crosses fingers*_

_Much love x_


End file.
